Page 5 of From Fake Dates to Forever Goals

The meal passes in strained silence. I chew my steak mechanically, trying to prepare for whatever bombshell Sam is about to drop.

Finally, after his last bite of pasta, he pushes his plate aside and places a thick file on the table.

“Open it,” he instructs, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

My stomach churns as I flip through the pages. The words blur together, but the message is crystal clear. My inheritance—my birthright—is on the line.

My chest tightens as I see the bottom line: a number so substantial, it makes my head spin. Losing this isn’t an option.

Sam sits back, watching my reaction with his signature calm intensity.

“You’ve got some tough decisions to make, Sebastian,” he says quietly. “Let’s hope you make the right ones.”

I sit there, the weight of the file pressing down on me, as the realization sinks in: my life, my future—it’s all hanging by a thread.

I close the file and shove it across the table toward Sam.

“This is nonsense. You can’t do that,” I say, leaning back and folding my arms.

“Dessert?” Sam asks casually, as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Are you even listening to me?” My voice rises, but Sam remains unfazed.

“Rules are rules, Sebastian,” he replies calmly, his tone maddeningly polite.

“You’re taking away my inheritance because of some stupid magazine articles?”

“It’s not just one article,” he says, leaning forward. “You’ve been a constant presence in every tabloid for the past twelve months. Your father has had enough.”

His words hit me like a punch. I feel like a bird trapped in a cage, my freedom dangling by a thread.

“Your father has always been a class act. Not one man in your family has ever made the papers for being a playboy.”

Just then, the waiter places Sam’s chocolate mousse in front of him, and he digs in with unnerving calmness.

“And what if I refuse? What happens to the money then?” I ask, slamming my hands on the table. A few heads turn, and I lower my voice, frustrated.

“If you refuse, your inheritance will be divided among the rest of the family. You won’t see a dime.” Sam savors another bite of his dessert, entirely unbothered by my growing fury.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Believe it or not,” he says, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “you have one week to decide what you want to do. If you don’t get your act together, you can kiss your inheritance goodbye.”

“And how, exactly, do you expect me to do that?” I ask, leaning forward. “I’m still having fun.”

“No one’s asking you to settle down completely, but maybe—just maybe—you could find yourself a decent girl for once.”

I groan and run a hand through my hair. “What difference would that make?”

“It’d give your fans something to root for and keep you out of the tabloids. Then the media could focus on your game instead of your dating life.”

“You mean headlines about my performance on the field?”

“Exactly!” Sam snaps his fingers. “Imagine it now:Sebastian Kane scores a hat trick!Wouldn’t that be a refreshing change?”

I exhale sharply, knowing this won’t be easy but seeing no other option.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Sam fixes me with a stern look, and I feel the weight of the ultimatum pressing down on me.

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